A sickly combination
by Roo1965
Summary: Even big strong Sentinels have their 'off' days.. set season 3. written August 2005


**"A sickly combination…"by Roo**

* * *

Jim Ellison shifted in his chair for the tenth time that morning. He could always blame it on the stupefyingly boringly speaker he had tuned out, or the butt numbing chair he was enduring for the second day in a row. It was also very hot and airless in the conference room in the hotel. Cascade was in the middle of an unseasonable hot spell. There was a 'problem' with the AC obviously. Detective Jim Ellison was tired, bored and a slight headache lurked in the background.

Captain Banks, bless his heart, had sent him of all people to attend a two day workshop across town. Sandburg, who should have been here to expound the benefits of an 'exchange program', was at his teaching job at the University. He could not get out of his commitments there. It wasn't all his fault; the workshop had been arranged and cancelled several times in the last six months alone. Did that say something about how much the uniforms and detectives liked the idea as opposed to the bean counters at City Hall he wondered?

So Jim had drawn the short straw. He didn't have anything major on his desk that he could plead out of it. Yesterday, Jim had even read out Blair's paper on the thin blue line, explaining how his anthropology background and research techniques had helped solve cases in Major Crime's department at Cascade PD. It had generated some interest and attention.

A cold buffet lunch was waiting on a table at the back of the room. Finally the speaker finished and people began to move off. Jim got stopped by other delegates still curious about his partner and the cases they'd worked on. He could see the food going fast. By the time he made it, there wasn't much left. He could have tried elsewhere in the hotel or outside but they were short on time due to things over running already. Jim managed a few sandwiches, chips and dips and some button mushroom starter in some sort of oil dressing. It wasn't what he'd have normally picked but hey, it was food. The bottled water had all gone. Jim grabbed two small bottles of orange juice and knocked those back, desperate for liquids.

Forty five minutes into the next presentation, his beeper buzzed in his pocket. He could not suppress the smile as he read the code. Clutching his handouts and pen, he left the conference room and phoned in from the lobby. A known drug dealer's girlfriend had been found murdered, possibly by a rival supplier as a warning. Could be the start of some turf war.

Jim drove to the crime scene, windows open trying to catch a cool breeze to ease the growing headache, and failed. Damn it was hot and stuffy outside too. He rolled his shoulders in an effort to clear the neck ache he had, probably those damn chairs in the hotel. Arriving at the bad end of town, he flashed his tin at the police officers outside and went into the apartment block.

"Okay Officer…Wyatt. What we got?" Jim asked the uniform outside the apartment as he tucked his badge onto his belt.

"Apartment owner Rendell Jones says he came back after getting take out for lunch and found his girl dead, a Caitlin Hobbes. Some weird note on the body too."

"Says?"

"The note says 'Stay away from me. You ruin everything you touch. KH"

"Sounds odd don't you think?" asked Jim.

The patrol officer shrugged.

"Anybody see or hear anything?" Jim had to ask even though he could guess the answer.

"Well, in this neighbourhood, we can ask but nobody ever sees or hears anything useful. Might admit to a few rows or noise, but nothin' else. We'll canvass the doors anyway sir"

"ME and Forensics guys on their way?"

"Right behind you I reckon."

"Huh," and with that Jim entered the main room. In a bed room off, the boyfriend was being guarded by another uniform. He spotted Jim. "Hey! I need to talk to you man!" he yelled. "You should be out looking for…"

"In a minute," Jim replied.

Jim looked carefully round the place trying to see if there was anything out of place, something that might give him some clues.

As he rounded the corner of the main room and the kitchen, he found the body. Reaching into his pocket he pulled on the thin nitrile gloves, so he wouldn't contaminate any evidence.

A youngish woman in her 20's lay face up on the floor. Her eyes were open, her blue jean clad limbs only slightly splayed. Stains showed through the dark brown t shirt at her breast suggested that she had been slashed or stabbed, and her throat was cut.

The slightly crumpled note lay on the floor between the girl's arm and chest. The paper had been folded at one point and now lay almost flat. Jim read it again, the wording seemed odd to him, as did the biro'd "K" on the note. He couldn't pick it up and look closer at it until the ME and tech crew had taken their photos, scoped and picked up hair and fibres and whatnot.

As Jim bent to get a closer look at the throat, the headache that had been building slid with a painful thud to his forehead. He closed his eyes for a second, taken by surprise at the intensity. He realised the blood, hot air and sweet smell of the part opened, cooled Chinese takeout in their boxes on the kitchen table combined in the apartment to make his stomach gurgle nastily. His mouth filled with saliva. He hadn't thrown up at a crime scene since…well, this could be a first.

Jim dialled down smell a notch and took a deep breath trying to calm himself. What was the matter with him? He'd seen worse when in he was in the Rangers…He cleared his throat as he heard voices in the hallway- must be the ME and crime scene techs. He peered at the dead girl's throat again. Was that bruising under the slashed cut…? He thought so. He looked at the eyes. The petechial haemorrhaging meant that she had been strangled before her throat was slashed. The ME would confirm that. And she was stabbed. No knife in the body….

Jim stood up to let the ME in and pronounce the body dead.

As he watched the ME open his bag and begin speaking into a recorder, he realised what had been bugging him. There wasn't a lot of blood. No blood spatters across the walls or floor. Not much pooled beside the body. A few drops on the note. And the body looked oddly neat.

Jim inspected the kitchen. Dirty dishes in the sink, a fridge-freezer humming in the corner. Kitchen utensils hung from a rack near the cooker. A kitchen drawer hung open. Chopping knifes, potato peelers, wooden spoons lay in a haphazard mess. There appeared to be a set of two black handled knives. A small one and a large one. Odd. These things came in graduated sets of three, or in a set of six with a block stand.

Hmmm. Jim turned around; the flashes from the tech's camera were making him feel really bad again. His head pounded and his neck ached.

Time to talk to the boyfriend. If this was the same Rendell Jones he'd come across before then this was all a bit odd. Jones wasn't a major player…unless he was branching out and this was someone's way of telling him to butt out. Or he killed his girlfriend and tried to make it look like a slaying…

"Wow this is funny. I met you before! I am right aren't I?"

"Yes, Mr Jones we met about six months ago. But this isn't very funny is it?" said Jim a bit annoyed at Rendell's behaviour.

"Man, I came back and she, well there she was. Didn't expect… We had a fight."

"Was that before or after you took something Rendell? Huh? How long were you gone? Where did you go?" snapped Jim.

"It's Friday! Just getting a little buzz on for the weekend. It IS Friday right? I was gone… I don't know… twenty minutes or so. The KH that is King Hun, right? I mean maybe be I saw or did something I shouldn't have…I'd heard about what he does to people…"

"Maybe you did and maybe you didn't. Must be pretty big for one of the major coke kings to off your girlfriend don't you think?" queried Jim.

Jim looked round the bedroom they stood in. The wardrobe door wasn't shut properly; the bedside drawers uneven as if someone had searched them. The room seemed devoid of any female trinkets and accessories. He opened the wardrobe door. A red holdall was squashed into the bottom of the recess.

"Did you touch any of the doors or anything when you came back?"

"I…err. No. Why should I?" blustered Rendell, but Jim hadn't missed the hastily smothered guilty expression that washed across his face.

Jim marched out to the bathroom, he opened the cabinet. A further sweep of the tiled space confirmed what he thought. Caitlin the girlfriend had packed to leave. Was it a quick trip away or the 'I'm- leaving- you-forever' kind of packing? Jones said they'd argued.

Jim came out and pulled Rendell into the main room, so the tech crew could get on with their job. He just wanted to finish this and get out of the apartment. The camera flashes were definitely not helping his headache.

"What did you fight about?"

"She was going to her brother's, I don't like him; I didn't want her to go!"

Jim sighed; he'd bring Rendell in for a statement and see if he remembered anything else. As for other evidence, he'd have to wait until tests were back. They needed to find the knife. Check phone records to see what kinds of calls Jones and his girlfriend made and received. Jim handed Jones off to the uniforms to take to the police station.

At last he could check the holdall in the bedroom wardrobe. At the tech crew's nodded agreement he lifted it out and put it onto the bed and unzipped it. The contents had been packed neatly, which suggested Caitlin. Tucked at one side he found a one way Greyhound bus ticket in her name for Seattle. It was time stamped yesterday lunchtime. Another sweep of his hands in the holdall found a writing pad and biro. The paper was similar to the note found on the body, but it would have to be checked. He lightly ran his fingers over the surface of the blank top sheet. Depressions became familiar words as he traced…. '_Stay away from me. You ruin everything you touch. CH._'

0000000000

There it was, the alleged 'threat' from King Hun, written by Caitlin, probably to Rendell Jones. So this was just a domestic after all. Sad, because Caitlin probably had family and friends who now needed to be told. But there might still be another big angle in the background. He'd have to check it out. Just in case.

Jim didn't think there was much more he could do in the apartment, and he was desperate for cooler air and an aspirin. He went over to the open window and looked out at the fire escape and dumpster in the alley below.

A few minutes later he was in the alley with two of the crime tech. When one of them opened the dumpster and the rotting odour flooded out, Jim finally lost the battle with his queasy stomach and the headache that pounded so hard. Bracing himself with one hand against the wall, in one big heave he lost his meagre lunch and probably his breakfast too. He wiped his mouth, and apologised to the crime guys.

"Sorry. Something I ate, I guess."

"Uhuh. We got before pictures…so don't worry."

Jim hoped he might feel better, but he didn't. He felt like crap. He wanted to lie down and die quietly somewhere. That was unless his head didn't explode first…But he had to get back to the PD and tie Rendell in knots so he'd confess. Taking a shaky breath he got back to his truck. He dug out a half full bottle of water stashed in the door pocket, and rinsed his mouth out. He drove very carefully back to the police HQ.

Once there he checked that Jones had arrived and was being processed and asked for him to be transferred upstairs to an interview room in half an hour. Jim carried on up to the Major Crimes floor. Knocking and then peering round Simon's door, he waited for his Captain to finish his phone call.

"Jim!" Simon waved him in. "What have you got on the Jones case?"

" Rendell Jones' girlfriend was murdered in his apartment- I'm pretty sure he did it and he's trying in some lame ass way to pin it on a big dealer – King Hun. Looks like she can't have been dead more than an hour or so according to the ME at the scene."

"Will we have any proper evidence to back you up, or are we going to have to blur the lines a little…?" asked Simon.

"The note that was left, I'm sure a letter was changed from a 'C' to a 'K'. The notepad looks similar to one found in the girls bag. It's on a rush with Questioned documents. There's possibly a knife missing from the kitchen," Jim explained.

"Hmm. Anything else?"

"Jones is too keen to pin it on a warning killing. Kept going on about how he'd heard this could happen to people. But it looks messy. Like he's heard about it not actually seen it. The details are off- the note and they'd never have used a common kitchen knife- they'd use a stiletto and leave it as a message. He worked on the fly and he's half jazzed, it all probably seemed like a good idea at the time," Jim finished.

"You didn't find the knife?"

"Not yet, sir," Jim's hand ghosted to his stomach as he remembered his sickness. "I ...uh…left them looking in the alley and dumpster."

"You okay Jim? You look a bit pale," asked Simon in concern.

"A slight headache. I'll be fine after I take some aspirin or something."

Simon opened a desk drawer and handed him a bottle of pills and pointed to the coffee machine. "You've had these before, you should be alright."

"Thanks, sir."

"The kid coming in later today?" asked Simon hopefully, in case there was something wrong with Jim.

"Yeah, in an hour or so I guess."

"Good."

Jim outlined his interview strategy with Simon who agreed it, and Jim headed for the interview room to begin.

Blair Sandburg dumped his rucksack on the floor behind the desk he shared with Jim. Jim was probably still at the exchange program workshop on the other side of town, so he didn't expect to see him yet. As he was tidying few papers and accessing the computer, Simon came out of his office.

"Sandburg, I'm glad you're here. Jim's been called in on a murder case- a Caitlin Hobbes. He's down in interview room 1. There may be messages for him, from the labs and so on. Keep an eye on him when you do see him."

"Why? Is there something wrong with Jim?" said Blair anxiously.

"Said he had a headache. I gave him some Tylenol a while ago, so he may be okay now. But…"

"Okay, thanks. I'll….." began Blair, when the phone rang on the desk. Simon went back to his office.

"Detective Ellison's desk. Major Crimes. Sandburg speaking…"

"Oh, this is Stiles from Forensics, getting back to him on some tests. Ellison unavailable?"

"Interviewing. Is this about the Hobbes case?"

"Yes. Okay here's what we got. One- QD came back with results from the preliminary tests on the notepad he submitted. Wording is the same as the note found on the body."

"Got that," replied Blair hastily scribbling notes.

"Two, we did find a flat bladed knife in the alley below, it's undergoing tests right now. We'll compare it with others submitted from the crime scene. Tell him we found it stuck between the brickwork and fire escape. Not far from the dumpster. He should remember that."

"Okay."

"Three- the smudge on the note was analysed and confirms detective Ellison's guess that it was from the Chinese take out cartons in the residence."

"Right. Anything else?"

"That's it for now. We have a lot of work ahead. Tell him I hope he's feeling okay now."

"Ah, Mr Stiles, what do you mean? Did Jim have an accident?" asked Blair.

"No, but he puked royally in the alley when we opened the dumpster. I know it's hot as Hades out there today, but I never thought I'd ever see old 'Ironguts Ellison' lose it over three day old trash."

"Oh no, did he touch or smell anything else?"

"Nope, had his gloves on. Something he ate he said. Drove away okay though."

"Sure, thanks Mr Stiles I'll pass this on straight away."

Blair hurried to Captain Banks' office to fill him in on the latest developments.

"You didn't tell me he was ill at the crime scene, Simon!" he said heatedly.

"What? I didn't know! I would have if I'd known Sandburg."

"Look we'll get to the bottom of this later. I'd better get this to Jim in the interview room."

When Blair got closer to the interview room he said "Jim, I'm here buddy. Got some messages for you from Forensics you need. I'll knock on the door in a sec." Jim appeared at the door at his knock, looking tired and slightly frazzled.

"Chief. What a surprise!"

"How are you doing Jim? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Jim absently replied as he rubbed his forehead and read the notes. He nodded and then went back in the room, closing the door behind him.

Blair watched from the 'two way' window room so that he could keep an eye on Jim.

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"So what really happened Jones?" prompted Jim of his suspect, who had declined having a duty lawyer present..

"I already told you."

"Not those pack of lies. You came back with your Chinese take out, put it on the kitchen table, right? There was no body on the floor."

"No!"

"Oh, then you walked round the body of your girlfriend and carefully put the food on the table afterwards? I think if that was someone I cared about…" Jim glanced towards the window where he knew Blair was. "Well, I don't think I'd be worrying about the food. I'd dump it on the floor or something by the body! No, you put it on the table and even opened one of the boxes! That's really callous. She's dead and bloody, and you're eating!"

"No!"

"Yes! She was still alive when you got back. You found the note on the table and when you read it, you went looking for her in the apartment. She was packed ready to go, but you came back a couple of minutes too soon."

"Why would I kill her, she wasn't going away for long! Visiting."

"No!" Jim banged the table. Jones jerked back in his seat. "She quit her job. She was on a one way ticket to Seattle. You argued, you already admitted that to me in the apartment a few hours ago."

"Yes…no."

"Which is it? Why did you cover it up?"

"I didn't! I told you someone else did it!"

"We know she was strangled first. Was that you? You'd need to get up close and personal to do that. Takes a lot of anger and power. Takes a few minutes to strangle someone and it isn't pretty. They fight back; I know what it's like, Jones. You can tell me. Did she fight back Jones? Sometimes it's the only way to shut someone up, right? Did you just want her to stop? How did you feel when the light went out of her eyes? " pressed Jim harshly.

"Oh God," muttered Jones. He seemed to crumple in the chair. "She was gonna leave me all on my own, man! Bitch told me I'd ruined her life!"

"We found the knife…"

"It just happened. Didn't set out to do that…thought it would work…it was worse than I expected. I thought 'she's dead' it'll be easy, but it wasn't."

"It was sloppy, Jones. More care and we might have believed you. But cutting her throat and stabbing her post mortem won't go down well with the jury."

"Oh man," Jones slumped over the table, his head in his hands. "Could I get a coffee or something?"

Jim nodded; he'd got him on the run. When the coffee arrived, Jim found its sharp smell and the downside of his adrenaline rush from pushing Jones hard, made his head pound and stomach lurch again.

"You think on what you did. Back in a few minutes. Interview suspended at 15.57. Detective Ellison leaving the interview room." Jim stood up abruptly from the table and left leaving Jones and the uniformed officer in the secure room. The door would automatically lock shut.

'Great,' thought Jim 'there goes yesterday's dinner and the T3 pills'. He exited the stall and rinsed his mouth out at the sink. He washed his face and leaned his forehead against the cool mirror above.

"Jim?" Blair had found him.

"Chief."

"What's wrong?"

"I'll be fine," Jim assured him, turning round to go back to the interview room.

"Ouch!" Blair said softly as he saw Jim's pinched, pained visage.

"What now?"

"You look terrible, Jim! You got the bad guy. Book him and let's go home!" Blair entreated as they went back up the corridor. At the door Jim turned to him and touched him on the shoulder. "I do feel like crap, sick as a dog," he admitted finally, "But I have to finish this, dot the I's cross the p's, whatever. Then I'll go home, okay with you?"

"The Tylenol not kicked in yet?"

"Nope, lost 'em just now,"

"Eww!"

"Got that right. Duty calls." and with that final note Jim entered the number on the keypad for the interview room.

"So, you thought about it, Jones? The truth this time," asked Jim.

"I didn't mean to…"

"No, you never do. At least if Caitlin had been murdered by 'King' Hun as a message to you, her death might have actually meant something!"

"Took my money, lied to me! Did she think she could just leave me some crappy two line note after all this time and just go? While I was getting lunch! How cheap is that?" Jones spat angrily.

"I understand that you hit out at her, you didn't mean it, but the other stuff afterwards will count against you. You used the note she left, your own knife. It was premeditated."

"I'm going to charge you with the murder of Caitlin Hobbes today pending further investigation. You will write your statement on this form and you will be booked and taken back to the cells."

Jim left the interview room. The fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered, making him feel very ill again. He had turned down sight and hearing a little earlier, but they had slipped back again after his visit to the men's room. Blair joined him, and they walked back to Major Crimes together. He went straight to Simon's office.

"You get him to confess?"

"Yes, Simon. Stupid low life!"

"Okay I guess we have to wait for DNA and a few other tests to absolutely confirm your theory and what he says. Is he still refusing counsel?"

"Yes. I think he really thought he'd fool us and when he realised he hadn't and there was nothing he could do, well why bother?"

"Well, he still needs representation, I'll sort something out. Go home Jim! Don't you dare throw up on my carpet!"

"I'll make a start on the paperwork, sir."

Simon sighed, "Okay, do what you can now and then go. You look like hell."

Blair watched as Jim sat at his desk and leant forward, elbows on the desktop with his head in his hands.

"Jim?"

"Hmm? Gimmee a minute 'burg." was the muttered response.

00000000

Blair drove them home in Jim's truck. That in itself was testament to how bad Jim felt. He didn't want to drive and let Blair do so without any protest. It was quieter that way. Jim sat with his eyes closed trying not to throw up again and wishing his head would just get on and explode instead of prolonging the agony.

Once up in the Loft Jim took another pill and some biscuits and water, to try and replace the liquids he'd lost. He felt too restless to sit downstairs, so he changed and went to bed, grateful for the eye mask and earplugs that Blair had got him some time ago. They would cut down some of the sensory overload he was experiencing.

Jim had run through the last two days, what he'd done and what he'd eaten. But Jim didn't think it was from anything he'd touched or smelled and it wasn't food poisoning. He'd had that before. The bad head and sickness were nasty enough without the other end rebelling too. So, he was grateful for small mercies.

He tried to relax in his comfortable bed, dimly aware of Blair downstairs being quiet for his sake. He tossed and turned and managed to doze for a little time. But once again he felt nauseous. Groaning, and pushing up the eye mask, he made his way back down stairs and wobbled his way towards the bathroom.

"Jim, what's up?"

"Not sure."

"Sick again?"

"Not yet." and although he felt bad, it turned out he wasn't ill again, so he left the bathroom. Jim went to the couch and sat down and leaned back against the cushions, eyes closed. Blair passed him a bottle of water and he took a drink and put the capped bottle back on the table.

"Do you want to stay down here? I'm sure your bed upstairs would be more comfortable," Blair queried.

"Yeah, but closer to bathroom here. Don't want to fall down the stairs in a hurry to get there!" Jim could hear Blair rustling about in the kitchen. The microwave beeped. A soft "Jim?" made him open his eyes. Blair stood in front of him, a soft gel pack in one hand and a horse shoe shaped fabric covered bean bag in the other. Jim could smell the light lavender fragrance from the warmed bag.

"Here, let's see if this helps to relax your neck muscles and get rid of the tension that's rebounding up your skull," Blair said as he placed the warm bean bag like a collar round Jim's neck.

"Feels nice. Thanks," smiled Jim as the warmth seeped in.

"And for the headache from hell…" Blair placed the cold soft gel pack on Jim's hot forehead. "I know it's an odd combination, but it should help. Works for me when I get the odd migraine," explained Blair.

Jim revelled in the cold gel pack that he really, really hoped would kill the throbbing headache. He again tried to relax and tune things out so he could get some rest and wake up and find the headache gone. After a while he moved slowly to a lying position on the couch, and felt a blanket covering him. "Blair?" he murmured.

"Relax. I'm here if you need anything."

Quiet noises off. Throbbing head pain. Neck ached. A period of blankness. He turned over on the couch, and his stomach rebelled again. "Not again," he cursed as he returned to the bathroom. 'Bye bye pills, biscuits and water' he thought tiredly as he stared blearily at his pale face in the mirror.

Blair was waiting with a newly 'zapped' bean bag for his neck and second cold pack.

"I don't know what else to do Jim. We tried neck massage but it was too painful and made you feel worse. You can't keep even water down."

"You are helping," Jim countered, sinking to the couch again and sipping some more water. "This should help in the long run. I think that's all we can do. Stick it out. Crappy back breaking chairs, stuck in an airless hot hotel room for two days, maybe some slightly off food at the hotel- a whole combination of things, Chief."

Jim lay quietly on the couch so the packs wouldn't move. After a while Blair was pleased to realise he had fallen asleep at last. Perhaps he would sleep long enough to get through the worst of it.

The rest of the night was spent with Jim sleeping or dozing, interspersed with rushed scrambles to the bathroom with dry heaves. When Blair woke up at six thirty the next morning he realised he hadn't heard anything from Jim since about three am. When he ambled out to the lounge, Jim was asleep and looked a better colour. Placing a hand lightly on his forehead, it felt cooler, normal- not hot like yesterday. Blair was relieved. When he removed his hand Jim opened his eyes.

"Hey, morning. How d'ya feel?"

"Better, I think."

"You rest a moment while I grab a shower then it's all yours," said Blair. When he came out, Jim was sitting at the breakfast table, head propped on one elbow.

"I think we could try tea and biscuits, see how you go. How are you now?"

"Not sure yet. I'm upright," said Jim as he took his turn in the bathroom, to shower this time. He went upstairs to dress in sweat pants and a T-Shirt. Another sign that he still didn't feel right enough to go to work just yet. Back at the table once more he slowly sipped the tea and ate some biscuits and felt better, although he wondered if they would make a reappearance in an hours time like before. Jim was conscious of Blair worrying in the background.

"Simon rang while you were in the shower. I don't have to be at the Uni today until 1pm. I told Simon the bad night you had and he said don't bother coming in until lunchtime or tomorrow."

"Well, alright," agreed Jim aware that he still didn't feel 100, but he was much better than yesterday. The headache still lurked vaguely in the background….

"I got up early to work on some papers and do some online research, so you just rest. I'll be here."

Jim knew there was no way he could change Blair's mind, and he did remember that this had been his plan for today anyway, so he wouldn't get into trouble at the University for not being in class. He sat on the couch and closed his eyes and listened to the comforting sounds of Blair in the apartment. He yawned and before he knew it he was half asleep. He heard Blair quietly urging him to lie down on the couch.

"Wah?"

"Shhh. Go to sleep, you need it." Once more, the blanket covered him. He fell into a black pit of heavy dark sleep.

Jim woke abruptly, not sure what had woken him. He sat up on the couch and scrubbed his face with his hands.

"Rip van Winkle arises!" laughed Blair from the kitchen table where he was still working.

"Ha, ha junior." he said as he stood up, his stomach rumbling from hunger this time.

"You look better than even a few hours ago. You slept like the dead for four and half hours. I think you rebooted your system!"

"I feel better, normal again. And I'm hungry for real food now I think," Jim went to wash and freshen up after crashing out on the couch.

"Scrambled eggs on toast okay Sandburg? Or do you want a sandwich?"

"Sounds fine by me, I'll be there in a minute," Blair said absently as he scribbled on a student paper.

Jim hid smile as he opened the fridge for the eggs, and flipped the kettle on for tea as he went past. Life returned to normal as he made lunch for them both, knowing that Blair's 'in a minute's' could be as long as half an hour. Blair had to be at the Uni by 1pm, and if Jim didn't do this, they'd both be late for work. He couldn't believe how 'well' he felt after feeling so awful yesterday. It was just one of those things. He didn't know if it would happen again. At least he knew now that he wasn't going to die, it would pass and that Blair would help him weather the storm.

The End.


End file.
